


Strawberry Meringue

by Control_Room



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Baking, Feelings, Flashbacks, Late at Night, Mild Blood, Reminiscing, Repressed Feelings, post hymns, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 08:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20945477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Control_Room/pseuds/Control_Room
Summary: What else could he do?





	Strawberry Meringue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PipesFlowForeverandEver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipesFlowForeverandEver/gifts).

> inspired by a post i spotted on PFFaE's tumblr  
<3

As Gingie slowly rocked in the chair on his porch, he looked out into the dark night. It was so late, so dark, the night sky reminding him of… of ink.

He shivered, and pulled the blanket he wore around himself as a shawl tighter around his shoulders, and slipped back into the house, flicking on the light, inhaling sharply. He looked at his hands, human, skinned hands. But within those veins… he tore his gaze from his hands, ignoring the scar on his palm. Nothing was there, he was fine. The house was so… silent. No creaking pipes, no shattering wood.

He inhaled, and exhaled, letting his fingers curl out of the fists they had balled themselves into.

There was nothing to fight, nothing to control, nothing around, nothing.

He had no desire to read, having read every book in the house at least a thousand times, and there was no interest to have a bath or other ‘traditional’ form of relaxation, but he knew he had to do something to let out his pent up nerves. Something, anything, not just wallowing miserably in nothingness. 

He entered his kitchen, and pulled the apron from the hook it rested on, tying it around his waist, smoothing out any wrinkles that had found their way to the object. Baking. Baking would quell his nerves. He allowed himself a small smile as he gathered ingredients, wondering what he should make. A pie, perhaps? Cherry, or apple? He reached his hand toward the red fruits in the basket, and a flash illuminated his eyes, and he could see the blood on Francine’s shirt there instead of the luscious fruits. He stumbled back, his back smacking into the counter with a bang, and there were the fruits again, bloodless, shiny, fresh.

He swallowed, and turned his back to them. Apple or cherry pie was instantaneously crossed from the list in his mind. He breathed in, holding it for a few moments, then breathed out.

It was over, it was all over. He could just… relax… and bake.

He took a small container of strawberries. He would make a strawberry meringue pie. Soft fluffy cream, like heavenly clouds. That would ease his nerves. Yes. A strawberry meringue pie. Just that.

He made the crust. He made the meringue. Dishes slowly filled the sink, higher and higher.

Gingie knew he would take care of them in the morning, but right then, right now, he was completely focused on the pie. The pink reminded him of early summery mornings, just as the sun was rising, riding a bike along a well known path with Henry alongside him. Just the two of them, and the world in the palms of their hands, shared forev-

‘Not forever, no, nothing lasts forever,’ Gingie scolded himself. He had to learn to let go, even though the lesson began, he knew it would take a very long time to truly learn it. The world was only his as long as it allowed him to reside within it, not for however long he wanted. He took the strawberries and the slim knife to cut them, and set himself to making quick work of them all, a fast chop chop chop, one two three, next. Well, it may have been too quick, as- “Shit!”

He shook his hand out as the cut stung his nerves.

He wanted to scream, not out of pain, not out of wanting to be heard, just to scream and release all the anguish that turmoiled deep in his soul, never giving him a moment of respite!

His blood, black.

Gingie felt lightheaded, the sensation stemming from his feet and rising to his throat, and before he knew it, he was kneeling on the ground, clutching his wrist, staring at a small cut as dark, ink like blood welled from it, his lungs burning as the scream he held in for so long, for too long, rang out of his mouth. No, it was not ink like blood, no, t’was the damned opposite! His very blood, his very essence, it was ink! The scream rippled and broke, hiccuping sobs replacing it. God, how long had he been blind? So blind….

Clear tears splashed into black blood, nay, into red ink. 

He could feel ink all around him, clawing at his arms, his legs, his victims screaming his name, calling out, “JOEY DREW, WHAT DID YOU DO?”

Gingie was drowning, gasping, shaking, trembling on his knees, still gripping a wrist in a manacle made from his own hand. 

The ink demon rose in his vision. 

Gingie kept his head down.

He wept.

What else could he have done?

He was a monster, a murderer, an old man that thought he could be God.

What could he do?

A sweet smell filled his lungs, and he blinked, his tears blinking out of his eyes. His pie….

He rose to his feet, trembling. 

He rinsed his finger in the sink, washing his tear streaked face as well, and breathed.

In, and out.

He looked at himself in the reflection of the window, his face dark against the night.

Gingie tried to smile at himself.

It came out wobbly.

He stared at it.

It was… ok. Not perfect, but… he really had to learn nothing was, or even could be, perfect. He was rather old, but so very foolish at times. And yet, he was learning not to be. It was just taking some time.

The pie finished baking, and he pulled it out, the bandage on his finger feeling odd against the warm pan of baked food, but not badly so. Humanly.

He was human, despite the strange blood flowing through his body.

In fact, it comforted him. Gingie realized that he would be rather disconcerted if he emerged completely unscathed from the whole ordeal.

He set the strawberry garnish on top of the pie.

It looked wonderful, like a spring bike ride.

Gingie set it in the fridge.

And went to sleep.


End file.
